


Yes ... Back To Work If You Don't Mind, Part II

by akamww3



Series: Advantages [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Married Mollcroft, Mollcroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 22:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5644771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamww3/pseuds/akamww3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Much fluff and domesticity, squabbling and romance, as Molly returns to work, Mycroft finds himself in new situations, and the year draws to a close ... or, in other words, another extremely long installment in which I indulge myself most shamelessly and simply go on and on and on ...</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes ... Back To Work If You Don't Mind, Part II

_Back to Barts …_

An early start was nothing new for Mycroft, but Molly had to drag herself out of bed when the alarm went off at half past five Tuesday morning. She hoped getting up so early wouldn’t be necessary once her workday routine was re-established. First, though, they had to figure out how much extra time was needed to cover _Michael’s_ morning routine. Molly knew how long the baby’s first feeding normally took, but he might be slower to start and finish with the change to his nursing schedule.

“You should stay in bed awhile,” she said, running her eyes over her husband as she pulled on her dressing gown. When Mycroft straightened his arms overhead and yawned his way through a full-body stretch, Molly fleetingly considered suggesting a quickie, then sighed at the thought of all the things they had to do before her shift started at Barts. She instead rounded the foot of the bed, braced herself over Mycroft with a hand flattened against his chest, and stooped to kiss him. “ _Mmmm_ ... you gorgeous man,” she murmured as she straightened, then held his gaze for a few moments before turning away. “God, you are _such_ a temptation.”

Mycroft watched Molly until she passed through her dressing room door and out of sight, then turned his head to stare at the ceiling. He yawned again, more audibly this time, then got out of bed, looking at the open door to Molly’s dressing room as he shrugged into his dressing gown. He hesitated a few moments, then turned away and crossed the room to his bathroom, reminding himself they could take all the time they wanted that night.

The two hours before they eventually left the house at half past seven seemed to pass very quickly. Michael hadn’t hesitated to nurse earlier than usual, but he did take longer with it. He’d come to expect playtime with Molly after nursing, but instead she put him on the mat of his play gym while she moved around his room, repacking the changing bag. She then picked Michael up and returned to her bedroom. “Mycroft?” He walked out of his dressing room, fully dressed but with his jacket folded over his arm. “Are you ready to take him now?”

Mycroft hung the jacket around the back of a chair, then crossed to Molly and took Michael from her. “Go take your shower and don’t rush – you have plenty of time.” They separated to head toward different doors, but Molly hesitated when Mycroft cleared his throat. “I left something for you in the wardrobe.” He didn’t wait for a reply. “We’ll see you downstairs.”

She hurried to her dressing room and opened the wardrobe doors. There were two hanging garment bags that hadn’t been there the last time she looked. She squeezed the thinner one between thumb and forefinger and could feel some sort of lightweight clothing. She lowered the zipper, then flipped through the bag’s contents. _Huh._ Why had Mycroft put six white labcoats in her wardrobe? She took one off its hanger and then noticed her full name, _Molly Hooper Holmes,_ embroidered in red over the front pocket, followed by post-nominals showing her medical qualifications and membership in the Royal College of Pathologists. She quickly moved to the other garment bag and slowly lowered the zipper, and then gasped at the sight of several jumpers, shirts and pairs of trousers, grouped together as three outfits. The one at the front consisted of dark gray trousers, a pale pink button-up shirt, and a V-necked, lambswool jumper in a color-block pattern of dark gray, cream and pale pink. There was also a shoe box with a pair of low-heeled ankle boots in soft black leather. Molly laughed when she opened a shopping bag and found a soft leather hobo-style handbag. In pink. _Oh, that man._ Just when she thought she couldn’t possibly love Mycroft more than she did, he buys her a pink handbag … or has someone else do it. Either way, she knew he was the one who thought of it.

Half an hour later, Molly smoothed the sides of her hair and fastened the clip around her ponytail, then swiftly braided the tail and wrapped an elastic band around its end. One last glance in the mirror, then she headed downstairs. Her steps slowed as she turned down the short hall to the kitchen and she stopped entirely when she went through the door. Mycroft was sipping his tea while he listened to Mrs. Collingwood, but lowered the cup when Molly came in.

“My, don’t you look nice, Miss Molly,” Mrs. Collingwood said.

Molly’s gaze slid to the housekeeper and she thanked her before turning back to Mycroft. “Mycroft surprised me with some new clothes this morning.” She looked down at herself when he didn’t say anything, then looked back at him with a tentative smile. “Thank you for all the beautiful gifts.”

Mycroft got up and walked over to stand a few feet from her, then lifted a brow while twirling his forefinger in the air. Molly’s smile brightened as she slowly turned in a circle. “You do look lovely, my dear,” he said, moving closer to take her hand. “It’s good to see you in work clothes that actually fit, rather than ones several sizes too large. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he added when Molly frowned. “You don’t have to wear these clothes, but I knew you hadn’t taken time to buy anything new since Michael was born and wanted to give you some choices.”

Molly looked past Mycroft at Michael, who was strapped into his highchair and playing with several toys on the tray. More toys were on the floor around him. Mrs. Collingwood set a cup of tea at the place across from Mycroft’s and Molly walked over to take a seat. When Mycroft had settled on his stool again, she said, “I like these clothes. Besides, my other work things wouldn’t fit the same since I’m a bit bigger in the chest and,” she grimaced, “the bottom.”

Mycroft set his cup back in the saucer and leaned sideways, deliberately running his gaze down her body. He was about to remark appreciatively on those changes, but refrained when movement at the corner of his eye reminded him of Mrs. Collingwood’s presence. “Going back to work after more than six months away gives you an opportunity to start afresh. Whether you realize it or not, you’ve changed since you were last at Barts, and I don’t mean the physical changes because you’ve had a baby.”

“In what ways,” she asked as she spread jam on a piece of toast.

“For one thing, you’re much more self-assured,” he said, tilting his head as he studied her. “You walk more confidently. You even look taller.”

“That’s probably because _you’re_ so tall,” she said. “I find myself standing as straight as I can and lifting my chin to minimize the difference in our heights. I guess it’s become a habit now.”

Mycroft leaned across the table to take Molly’s hand in his. “All I’m saying, my dear, is you were never that timid ‘mouse’ you thought yourself and convinced some other people you were. If you want to, you can get rid of that image forever and all you have to do is let people see the real you. Wearing better fitting clothes doesn’t change who you are, but it requires you to give up the disguise of ones that are much too big for you.”

“I really do like these, Mycroft,” she said, smoothing her free hand over the front of the jumper. “They’re still _me,_ aren’t they … perhaps a little more sophisticated version of me.” Molly squeezed his hand. “I don’t mind that. But Mycroft – that pink handbag … did you gag when you gave instructions to buy that?”

Mycroft looked affronted. “I’ll have you know, Molly Hooper Holmes, that I bought the handbag myself. And, no, I did not gag.” _Much,_ he thought.

“Just when did you have time to go shopping?”

“Saturday morning.”

“You told me you had to go to the office.”

“I _did_ go to the office … briefly,” he said wryly, then flipped his pocket watch open. “You need to eat something. We have to leave in twenty minutes.”

“Oh my god,” Molly said with a quick glance at Michael, who was still absorbed by the one squeeze toy he hadn’t dropped to the floor, “where did the time go?” She hurried to the refrigerator. “I’ll just have some yoghurt, Mrs. C, and the rest of that toast.”

“It will be cold, Miss Molly.”

“It’s all right,” she said, returning to her stool. “Oh god, I can’t believe I’ve fooled around and made us have to rush now.”

“Calm down, my dear. We’re not in that much of a rush.”

Molly ate several spoonsful of yoghurt, then set her spoon down. “Why did you get all those labcoats? It was tremendously thoughtful of you, but you know they’re just going to get mucky.”

“They can be cleaned,” he said. “Since you’ve decided to use both names now at work, I enjoyed making it more official. The embroidery was a bit of an indulgence on my part.” He pushed his stool back and bent to release Michael from the highchair. “I’ll see if he needs changing and bring his bag down. Do you need anything else?”

“The blue ring-sling. It’s in the top drawer of the chest.” Molly watched as they left the kitchen, then quickly finished the yoghurt. “I hope I haven’t forgotten anything.”

“If you need something from home today, just call me and I’ll bring it to you,” Mrs. Collingwood said, as she came to stand by Molly.

“That would be great, Mrs. C,” Molly said. “It’s nice to know you’ve got my back.” She ate the last bite of toast, finished her tea, then sighed and looked up at the housekeeper. “I want to go back to work, but I’m sorry as well. I’ve enjoyed being at home all this time, and I’m so grateful for all you’ve done to help me … _us.”_

“You’re welcome, Miss Molly, but it’s been my pleasure,” she said, resting a hand on Molly’s shoulder. “If you ever need me to take care of Michael, I’ll be happy to do so.”

Molly rose to her feet and gave the housekeeper a warm hug. “We’ll see you this evening. I hope you and Toby have a nice day.” Molly hurried upstairs and met Mycroft with Michael on his way toward the stairs. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.” Molly quickly brushed her teeth, grabbed her handbag and carryall, then looked around, trying to think of anything else she needed. Less than ten minutes later, the three of them were out the door and waving goodbye to Mrs. Collingwood. _7:23, not bad._

Molly shifted on the seat to see Michael better and smiled when he tried to put his foot in his mouth. He seemed fascinated by his feet and hands and at times needed little more to entertain him. Molly raised her gaze to Mycroft and watched him for a few moments as he worked on his phone. “Everything all right? Do you still have time to go to the nursery with me?”

Mycroft shifted toward her as he slipped the phone into his pocket, then threaded their fingers together. “As well as it’s ever going to be,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to miss Michael’s first day.”

“Besides, you need to have the other babies’ backgrounds checked,” she quipped.

“Already done, as well as their parents’ and grandparents’,” he said. Despite his wry tone, Molly doubted he was joking, but didn’t pursue the subject further.

“By the way …,” Molly said after a few minutes, “please don’t buy me anything for Christmas.” She turned away from the window to give Mycroft her sternest look. “And I do actually mean it – not like some spouses who may say that but then get angry when their instructions are followed.” She smiled at his skeptical expression. “Truly, Mycroft. There’s nothing I need or want, at least nothing materially. All I’d like is to dance with the man I love in the privacy of our home without any of your usual grumbling - not that _that_ lasts long once we get started,” she added in a low voice as she leaned toward him and brushed her thumb over the back of his hand. “Your enthusiasm level usually rises dramatically as we go along.” Molly continued to hold his eyes, then abruptly straightened and turned to look out the window, flushing a bit when she thought of Walter in the front seat. “Besides,” she said after a few moments, “with Mrs. C in Australia over Christmas and New Year’s, we’ll have the whole house to dance in without worrying about anyone seeing you taking part in such a frivolous activity.”

“We’ll have the whole house to do all _sorts_ of things in.”

Molly quickly turned back to him, shocked that he’d make such an insinuation while in “work mode” - and do so in that deep tone of voice he used when … _“Mycroft,”_ she protested in a whisper, jerking her head in Walter’s direction.

Mycroft laughed under his breath. “If you want to dance, we’ll dance. Is that all you want for Christmas?”

“The only present I want from you for Christmas or for our anniversary or for birthdays is to spend time together, to whatever extent your work allows it. I’d like to _do_ things with you,” she said, then quickly added at his arch look, “maybe have a few adventures – low-key adventures. And I don’t mean going on some sort of extravagant holiday. I just mean taking a hike like we did up Arthur’s Seat or going on a picnic or spending a day exploring a ruined castle or something - places we could take Michael, because family time, however limited, will be important as he gets older.”

“Is that it then?”

“Yes, with the understanding that that’s in addition to spending enormous amounts of time letting me take advantage of your body,” she said with a smile.

“Naturally.”

Molly turned to look out the window as Walter pulled up outside the nursery entrance. Molly gathered her things and quickly slid out of the car, then turned to wait for Mycroft to climb out with Michael, leaving the car seat behind. They crossed the pavement and entered the reception area, and Molly suddenly realized she was clutching Mycroft’s arm. Tightly. She loosened her hold but didn’t entirely let go when the receptionist greeted them or when the nursery director came out and led them to her office. After a short time there going over nursery rules and both sides’ expectations, they moved to the room that was dedicated for babies aged six to eighteen months.

The décor was all bright colors, squishy looking soft furniture and tot-sized, primary-colored chairs and tables, neatly shelved and stowed-away toys – all that was welcoming and cozy and fun at first impression … _and,_ Molly thought with a quick glance at Mycroft, as _noisy_ as one might expect of a room currently peopled by nine babies other than Michael. The dedicated room leader, Ruth Greene, came to greet them and quickly described a typical day for the children in her care. Molly broke in when she began to explain how they handled feeding the babies.

“Michael still nurses four or five times a day and takes vitamin supplements, and I’ll be coming to feed him mid-day – during the lunch hour,” she said. “He’s started eating a few solid foods the last two days in the early evening, and we want to keep to that schedule. Please don’t give him anything else. If he ever shows any signs of being hungry, call me, and I’ll be here in a few minutes. If he starts to show a lot of interest in what the other babies are eating, let us know and we can possibly make changes. My point is we don’t want to wean Michael now so need whatever you do with him here to support full-time breastfeeding.”

“Of course, Dr. Hooper,” Ruth assured her. “Michael’s situation is not that unusual. We’ve often cared for babies who were still nursing full-time.”

“Don’t ever hesitate to contact me. I’ll be in the lab or morgue and can get here in just a few minutes,” Molly said. “Oh, I’m now using the name Holmes by the way.” She handed over Michael’s changing bag, and Ruth went back to her duties, leaving Molly and Mycroft in the sitting area to take their leave from Michael.

“I don’t want to do this,” Molly muttered as she reached for the baby.

Mycroft frowned as they completed the transfer. “What?”

“I don’t want to do this,” she said more insistently, hugging Michael close as her gaze flitted around the room. She finally lifted her gaze to Mycroft’s for a moment, but then she dropped her eyes and moved closer to press her forehead against his upper arm … his aversion to public displays be damned.

Mycroft shifted until his back was to the room and the side of Molly’s face was pressed to his chest. His eyes met Michael’s bright gaze, then he raised an arm to encircle them both. “If you’re serious, Molly …,” he began, not wanting to press her, but aware that her shift was due to start shortly. He recalled but dismissed his own meeting that was due to start in about half an hour.

Molly didn’t say anything for several moments, but then she took a shuddery breath and released it slowly. “No - yes,” she said against his jacket. “Yes, I’m serious, but -” She stopped to take another deep breath, then lifted her head, “No, I have to do this.”

“You don’t _have_ to do anything, my dear,” he said.

“No, but I need to do this,” she said, meeting his eyes for a moment before she turned to Michael, who was looking around the room, bright-eyed and curious. “Look at Michael. _He_ needs us to do this. He needs to interact with other children, to have contact with more people than us few. And I need to work.” Mycroft dropped his arm when Molly straightened and shifted Michael higher in her arms. “I love you, Michael, my sweet boy,” she whispered, then kissed both of his cheeks. “Here,” she said quickly, “take him, please, while I have a word with Ruth.”

Molly didn’t actually need to talk to Ruth again, but she wanted to give Mycroft a few moments alone with Michael. She didn’t know whether Mycroft needed that, but _she_ needed that for them. Molly was making sure Ruth had all of her contact information, when Mycroft walked over to stand beside them. He carefully transferred Michael to Ruth, then stepped back and discreetly took Molly’s hand.

Ruth smiled at them warmly while Michael looked at her wide-eyed. “Michael will be fine with us. Try not to worry,” she said, then held her hand out to Molly. “We’ll see you in just a few hours, Dr. Holmes.”

Molly suppressed a snort at her own surprise at hearing that name, then rubbed a finger over Michael’s leg before turning away. She didn’t look back as they crossed the room and went out the door, but stopped halfway to the front door, checked her watch, and looked up at Mycroft. “I’m sorry for the meltdown,” she said, fingering the edge of his lapel for a moment before dropping her hand. “I just - it was just …”

“Hard to entrust Michael’s care to someone else, even so temporarily,” Mycroft said, then glanced around before taking Molly’s hand. “I know,” he said, meeting her eyes, then continued to hold her gaze until her lips curved in amusement. “Now what.”

“Which one of the nursery staff is on your payroll?”

Mycroft arched his brows as his eyes widened. “My payroll?” His brows lowered again as he shook his head. “You credit me with far more reach than I have, my dear. You’ve been listening to Sherlock’s conspiracy theories for too long.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Molly airily agreed, letting go of his hand as she started walking toward the door. “Hurry up … I don’t want to be late on my first day back.”

Mycroft found himself unexpectedly having to suppress a laugh as he followed her out the front door. _After all, Mycroft Holmes doesn't laugh in public._

~~~~~

“For _god’s_ sake … couldn’t you give him the slip?”

Molly was still pressing her hand against her heart as she stepped around Mycroft, who’d instinctively moved to protect her when she’d gasped at finding someone sitting at her desk. In her locked office. “What are you doing in my office?”

“The sooner you handle this business with Dr. Denis, the sooner I can get back to my experiments,” Sherlock said, then glared at Mycroft over her shoulder. “You can go away now, brother mine.”

“Leave Mycroft alone,” Molly said, raising her palm toward her husband before he could respond in kind. She grabbed Sherlock’s ankles as she rounded her desk and swung his feet to the floor – and not particularly gently. “Get out of my chair and out of my office. I’ll meet you in the lab a little later, but I have to go to Human Resources first and then meet with Mike before starting work.” She stepped aside as Sherlock brushed by her, then dropped her bags onto her desk. “Go on, Sherlock,” she said more kindly when he hesitated by the door. “I won’t be long. Why don’t you make a list of all the deficiencies I’ve likely acquired in the past six months and we can develop a plan for bringing me up to your standards – sorry, an _approximation_ of your standards.”

Sherlock silently stared at Molly, blinking slowly at both the unexpected flurry of words and the way her tone had sharpened as she went on, then turned to go. “Wait a minute, Sherlock,” she said, walking around her desk. “Come here.”

“I’ve got to go –”

“Come here a moment.” When he turned back to her, she grabbed the sleeve of his coat and pulled him further into the office. He glowered fiercely when she lifted onto her toes to kiss his cheek, but he didn’t try to avoid it. “Don’t mind me, brother dear. I’ve had a long morning already and had to watch someone else – a _stranger_ – take charge of Michael, and I’m feeling a bit … spiky.” She patted his arm and glanced briefly at Mycroft who’d watched their exchange impassively. “I’m looking forward to working with you again, truly.”

Molly suppressed a gasp of shock when Sherlock bent to kiss her forehead. “I’m happy to have you back, Molly.” He swiftly turned and left the office, the swing of his Belstaff the last thing she saw out of the corner of her eye, and Molly looked at Mycroft, wide-eyed.

Mycroft flicked his brows as he reached to push the door shut. “I’m glad my little brother appreciates you, my dear, though I wish he’d acknowledge it more often.” He lowered his eyes to his pocket watch, then snapped it shut and tucked the watch away. “I have to go and you need to get to Human Resources.” Molly rested her palms on Mycroft’s chest as he slipped his arms around her waist, and he looked at her for a moment before bending to touch his lips softly to hers. When he started to pull away, Molly gripped his lapels and kissed him more firmly, then smoothed her hands over his jacket as she released him. “Call me after lunch and let me know how it goes at the nursery.”

“I will,” she replied as he stepped away and opened the door. “Just a sec, and I’ll walk part of the way with you.” She quickly stowed her handbag in her desk and locked the drawer, pulled her new labcoat from the carryall and shrugged into it, then tossed the bag in a cabinet and locked that as well.

Molly ran her hands down the front of the labcoat, smoothing out a few wrinkles, as she followed Mycroft out the door, then walked beside him down the corridor until they parted ways at the second intersecting hallway. Molly waved as she made the turn, and then work-mode Molly officially took over.

~~~~~  

After leaving Human Resources, Molly went to Mike Stamford’s office. He smiled broadly when Molly tapped on the open door and hurried around his desk to greet her. “I think a kiss is acceptable,” he said, giving her a peck on the cheek and a quick hug. “It’s so good to see you, Molly.”

“And you, Mike,” she said, smiling. “How can six months seem so long and so short at the same time?”

Mike crossed his arms as he leaned against his desk and Molly dropped into a chair in front of it. “Are you ready to get back to work?”

“Perhaps mentally more than physically,” she said, flexing her fingers. “I haven’t had a scalpel in my hands for a long time, Mike.”

“Are you concerned about that?”

“No, not really,” she said, “but I’ve never been away from work for more than two weeks at a time since I became a pathologist.”

Mike uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. “You’ll do fine,” he said, then straightened and rounded his desk to sit down. He picked up a small stack of charts and flipped through them. “Here … start with Geraldine Talton. It looks like a straightforward stroke that caused her to fall down the stairs, but she lived alone and wasn’t found for a few days, so …”

“Right,” Molly said, scooting forward to take the paperwork from him. “What else?”

“Why don’t you complete that PM first to get your feet under you, then come back and we’ll go over the list and I’ll brief you on some changes to lab protocols.”

Molly rose to her feet, then hesitated. “Mike, about Sherlock … I understand there’s been a bit of a problem with Dr. Denis.”

“A _bit?”_ Mike shook his head, huffing a laugh. “You must have got the story from Sherlock. It’s a good thing Larry is relatively easy-going or Sherlock would be banned, if not for life, then for a period long enough to hurt.”

“I know he took a liver.”

“Taking the liver without permission was one thing. Refusing to admit he was in the wrong is another thing entirely,” Mike said. “I smoothed it over with Larry, but Sherlock can’t do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, even though we’ve always accepted a certain amount of rule-breaking since he’s, well, _Sherlock.”_

“Should I talk to Dr. Denis?”

Mike pursed his lips, thinking. “I don’t think it would make the situation worse. Maybe it would help since you understand Sherlock better than anyone else around here.”

Molly smiled drily, “Yes, lucky me.” She tapped the Talbot chart against her thigh a few times, then turned to go. “Thanks, Mike.”

“By the way … I like the labcoat, Dr. _Holmes.”_

Molly glanced back from the doorway, flushing a bit. “A present from Mycroft.”

“Thoughtful,” he said, grinning mischievously, then flapped a hand at her. “On your way then.”

~~~~~

Molly stopped by the lab on the way to the morgue and found Sherlock sitting at his favorite microscope station. He looked up when she came to stand beside him.

“About time you got here.”

“Sorry, Sherlock, but it’s going to be awhile longer. I need to get this PM done first -” Molly broke off when he plucked the chart from her hand. _“Sherlock!”_

“Why are you wasting time on this,” he muttered after scanning the first two pages. He looked up when she didn’t say anything, then studied her expression for several moments before snorting derisively. “Don’t be ridiculous – you don’t need any refresher.”

“That’s funny – just yesterday you suggested I’d lost my skill with a scalpel.”

He waved a hand dismissively at that and tossed the chart on the table. “Come look at this.”

“Can’t right now - I need to get on with the PM,” she said. “I’ll check back with you when I’m through.” She looked up when the lab door opened and then smiled when John walked in. “Hi, stranger,” she said, walking over to give him a hug. “How are Mary and Lizzie doing?”

After they’d been chatting for several minutes, Sherlock huffed loudly in annoyance. “There’s something you should be doing elsewhere, Molly.”

John and Molly exchanged a glance of amusement, then she left the lab with a wave at both men. “See you later.”

~~~~~

Molly bent over Mrs. Talbot, paused to take a deep breath and slowly released it, then lowered the scalpel and began.

~~~~~

The morning passed quickly after Molly completed the PM report. By the time she’d met with Mike again, been brought up-to-date on Sherlock’s current experiments, and worked on several toxicological analyses, it was half past eleven. She went to the locker room to remove her labcoat and clean up more carefully, then stopped by her office for her handbag and carryall before heading to the nursery. Michael and five other babies were on the floor in the middle of the room, each of them on a mat under a playgym. She walked in just as Michael batted at a toy dog with his hands, sending it swinging in a circle around the bar. He rolled his head toward the baby lying on the mat next to him and they both gurgled a laugh.

Ruth was sitting cross-legged on the floor near them, obviously encouraging their play, but got up when Molly came in. “How was your morning, Dr. Holmes?”

“Busy,” Molly replied, smiling. “How’s Michael been?”

Ruth turned to look down at him. “Very well, especially for a first day,” she said, then looked at Molly questioningly. “Do you want to nurse him right now?”

“Yes,” Molly said, then moved around the floor mat until Michael could see her. “Hello, sweetie,” she said, smiling broadly when the baby gave a gurgling squeal and waved his arms and legs. She lowered herself to her knees on the mat, then set her bags down. “Let’s get you out of there,” she said, carefully freeing him from the playgym, then gathering him close to her chest. She pushed herself back to her feet, then stooped to pick up the bags. “Where do you want us?”

Ruth signaled one of her two assistants to take her place on the mat, then led the way across the hall to a small sitting room that had an armchair and ottoman, small sofa, side tables, and a round table with two wooden dining chairs. “Is this all right?”

“It’s fine,” Molly said, looking around for a few moments before she crossed to the armchair. She held Michael one-handed as she pulled the ring-sling out of the carryall and slipped it over her head, then arranged the material loosely around them before sitting down. She wasn’t using it to support Michael, but simply for privacy in case someone walked in.

“Let us know if you need anything,” Ruth said, then returned Molly’s smile and shut the door.

Molly pulled her jumper up and unbuttoned her shirt, huffing a laugh at Michael’s bright-eyed interest in each movement. Once he started nursing, she kissed his cheeks and forehead and then took his hand in hers and gently fingered its tiny bones and finally kissed the back of it. _Oh, you precious, precious boy,_ she thought, biting her lip and blinking back tears. She rubbed a finger under her eyes and laughed under her breath at her sudden surge of sentimentality. She kissed Michael’s forehead again, then tilted her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes.

After several quiet minutes, Michael made a humming noise in a tone that sounded like a question, and Molly opened her eyes in surprise. He was staring at her as he nursed and made the humming noise again, which was definitely something new. When she smiled at him, his eyes brightened and the corners of his lips turned up, breaking his connection to her, but he started sucking again when Molly brushed her finger over his cheek.

Molly reached for the carryall and removed an apple and a bottle of water. As she sipped the water, she thought about Michael’s humming and decided he’d used it to get her attention. She found every step of his development fascinating and felt a twinge at the thought of missing any milestones while she was working. What she needed to do was to meet with the nursery director again and modify her expectations … no, her _requests._

~~~~~

Mycroft was in a lunch meeting with several Cabinet members when his phone vibrated at a quarter to one. He caught the eye of the Home Secretary and gave a minuscule tilt of his head toward the door before rising to his feet and quietly excusing himself. He answered just as the door shut behind him and continued walking down the corridor as he listened to Molly, occasionally lifting his chin in response to greetings by various officials he passed. He eventually slipped into a small withholding room and closed the door.

“I don’t care for the idea of my son having a girlfriend at his age, especially an older woman twice his age,” he murmured, then smiled to himself when Molly laughed. A twelve-month-old had taken a shine to Michael and was hovering around him to the extent a baby that age could hover.

“Ruth said they’d sort it before the children are old enough to run away with each other,” Molly said, laughing under her breath. “No, really … Michael was doing so well when I arrived – playing and laughing – and he seemed quite happy when I returned him to the babies’ room after lunch.” She paused for a moment, then continued more briskly, “I’m sure you need to go, darling. We can talk more tonight.”

“Give Walter a call when you’re ready to leave.”

“I will. See you later.”

As Mycroft walked to the Cabinet room, he thought of Molly’s description of Michael’s experiences that morning and the corners of his lips turned up – not much, but recognizably a smile so that the passing Health Secretary smiled when Mycroft’s gaze unintentionally met his. Mycroft suppressed a scowl as he nodded in response. Having to acknowledge such a goddamned bastard was what he got for allowing even a fleeting pleasant thought to enter the cheerless corridors of Whitehall.

~~~~~

Molly’s afternoon turned out to be rather routine as she easily moved from one thing to another and completed her assigned duties. Several staff members she’d been friendly with, if not friends outside of work, stopped by to welcome her back, but otherwise the afternoon was uneventful. At half past five, Molly went to the locker room to freshen up, then called Walter shortly afterwards when she walked into the nursery. Picking up Michael took a bit more time than dropping him off had since several other parents were there and introduced themselves. Molly felt obliged to chat a bit with each of them, but finally escaped by saying her ride would be waiting and Michael would be ready to nurse soon.

Walter was leaning against the car when she came out of the nursery, and Molly started apologizing as she crossed the pavement. “It’s all right, Mrs. Holmes,” he said, dismissing her concern with a wave of his hand. “Let me take your bags.”

As Molly started to climb into the car, the nursery director passed by, calling, “Good night, Dr. Holmes. We’ll see you tomorrow.” Molly returned the greeting, then got in the car, sitting sideways as she strapped Michael into the car seat. She turned around and buckled her belt, then noticed Walter was looking at her in the rearview mirror. “Everything all right, Walter?”

“Should I be calling you _Doctor_ Holmes?”

“No, Walter – Mrs. Holmes or Miss Molly or Molly is just fine. _Doctor_ Holmes does sound odd,” Molly continued with a smile. “I’ve decided to go by Holmes at work as well as outside of work because of Michael. It’s old-fashioned, I’m sure, but I’d like us all to use the same name.”

Molly looked out the window at the people hurrying along the pavement, most likely to catch their transportation home, and thought that was one thing she certainly wouldn’t miss. She was grateful to be traveling with Walter instead of fighting the crowds on the tube or waiting at bus queues – not that using public transportation had ever been a real consideration now that she had Michael. The additional stress doing that would have caused Mycroft was almost unimaginable.

Molly gently squeezed Michael’s knee as she peeked at him around the edge of the car seat, which caused him to erupt in giggles. Molly glanced at Walter in the mirror and noticed the crinkled skin at the corner of his eyes. The baby’s laughter was definitely infectious.

~~~~~

One day back at work, one day dealing with the nursery, hardly justified the level of happiness Molly felt at being home and carrying Michael downstairs after they’d both had a bath. Yet everything was such a pleasure … from sharing the baby’s latest attempts with solid food to performing the necessary clean-up afterwards … from guiding the hour of noisy playtime to settling down for the quiet hour of nursing and reading Michael to sleep … then that burst of renewed energy when Mycroft arrived home, the quiet sharing of their late evening meal, their eventual coming together in the middle of the big bed …  

~~~~~

_Establishing A Routine …_

Wednesday morning was similar in timing to the previous day, but then the Holmes family members separated at their front door – Molly and Michael departing for Barts with Andrew after a rather noisy and lingering leave-taking, and Mycroft watching the other car pass through the front gate, then glancing at an equally amused Walter before climbing into the back seat to head toward Whitehall.

Molly had just settled on a stool in the lab when Greg Lestrade came through the laboratory door, paused for a moment as he glanced around the room, then made a beeline for her work station. Molly rose to her feet just in time to be engulfed by a warm bear hug from her favorite copper … one of her favorite _people_ , actually.

“Now _that’s_ a proper greeting,” she said with a laugh when he finally let her go. “But tell me … are you truly happy to see _me_ or is it simply the relief of having me back to serve as a buffer against Sherlock.”

“Both actually, if I’m forced to be honest,” Greg said with a sheepish grin. “So, Molly … how’s it been to be back?”

“It’s only been a day, Greg,” Molly said, deadpan, then continued more cheerfully, “but, yeah … so far it’s been good, really good.” She turned back to her work station, moved a pipette farther from the table’s edge, then picked up her postmortem list. “Are you here for a case?” She looked up at Greg after flipping through the pages. “None of these seem worthy of a visit from my favorite Detective Inspector.”

He turned to lean against the work table, then crossed his arms with a sigh. “Nah … I was literally in the area and thought of you so decided to drop in for a few minutes.”

“Thanks for thinking of me, Greg,” Molly said with a smile.

~~~~~

Other than the visit from Greg, Molly’s second day back was mostly routine, but a routine made up of work she loved so there was much satisfaction and enjoyment to be found in it. But once again the real happiness came with picking up Michael and returning home to get on with their own routine ... and then her pleasure at least doubled once Mycroft came through the door.

~~~~~

Before Molly knew it she was preparing to walk out of Barts on Thursday afternoon, her third and last workday for the week. Considering how well the three days had gone overall, both at work and home, Molly fleetingly considered telling Mike Stamford that she’d return to full-time status as soon as he could arrange it …, but no. She’d wanted the delay to continue to focus her attention on Michael at home. The fourth of January would be soon enough to change their family routine again.

Molly checked the time as she took her handbag out of her desk drawer ... _5:35._ She locked the desk and quickly grabbed her carryall, then hurried down the corridor and through the hospital exit just as Sherlock and John got out of a black taxi.

“Ah, Molly,” Sherlock said, his coat swirling around his knees as he strode toward her, then wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and turned her back the way she’d just come.

_“STOP!”_ Molly took advantage of Sherlock’s surprise at her sudden yell to pull her arm from his grasp. She shifted her bags onto one shoulder, then grabbed his arm with her free hand _. “You_ … come with me.” Molly looked past him. “Hi, John. You come with me as well.”

Sherlock allowed Molly to pull him a few steps before forcing her to stop. “What are you _doing?”_

Molly tugged on his arm and huffed in annoyance when he wouldn’t move. “I have to pick up Michael, and it’s a good idea for them to know you at the nursery in case we ever need you to pick up him,” she said, then paused for a moment and glanced at John, who’d come to a stop alongside her. “Well … perhaps letting them _‘know’_ Sherlock ahead of time isn’t such a great idea. I don’t want Michael to be struck off their list.”

Sherlock scoffed. “Yes, very funny … but we don’t have time for this. I need you in the lab.”

Molly scowled at him, then gasped. _“I’m_ the one who doesn’t have time for this. _Come on_ … we’re going to be late!”

“We better go with her, Sherlock,” John said as he started down the pavement, then glanced back. “Come on.”

Sherlock’s scowl put Molly’s to shame as he freed his arm. “Oh, for _god’s_ sake. All right, let’s go,” and with that he took off at a fast pace down the street. Molly’s eyes met John’s, then she gave an undignified _“whoop!”_ and ran after her brother-in-law.

~~~~~

Fifteen minutes after entering the nursery, they spilled out of the front door with Michael and onto the pavement _en masse_ , and the high pitch of the three adults’ raised voices caused passers-by to stop and gawk ... and Walter to straighten in alarm.

“Just shut up, Sherlock!” John’s level of discourse had rapidly descended as the level of hysteria inside the nursery rose.

“You couldn’t let it go, could you!” Molly hitched Michael higher against her chest, then poked her forefinger in Sherlock’s tender middle section. “I told you not to say anything!”

Sherlock winced as he pushed her finger away, surprisingly gently all things considered. “So you want your son to be looked after by a -”

_“SHUT UP, SHERLOCK!”_ Molly broke in, swiftly glancing around, then sighed in relief when she saw Walter hurrying across the pavement toward them. “Come on,” she said, lowering her voice when she noticed the people staring at them. “We’ll drop you off.”

“We need to go to Barts,” Sherlock insisted.

“Fine,” Molly said, handing her bags to Walter.

“I need _you_ back at Barts, Molly,” Sherlock said.

“And I’ll be there at half past eight on Monday,” she said, then turned to go.

“Wait a minute – can’t you come now?”

Molly stared incredulously at her brother-in-law, then arched her brows and pointed at Michael. “Do you see your nephew here?” Sherlock flicked a look at Michael, then met Molly’s gaze again, widening his eyes beseechingly and giving her his most mesmerizing stare. _The one he probably practices in the mirror_ , she thought. “I have to get Michael home, Sherlock. Babies need to keep to a schedule, and it’s almost time for his supper.”

Sherlock dropped his gaze to the front of Molly’s jumper, then quickly met her eyes again as a touch of pink darkened his cheeks. “Couldn’t you just … um –”

“No, I couldn’t,” Molly snapped. “He eats some solid food for supper now.” She turned to John. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Can you deal with him?” John lifted his chin and gave her a smile. “Thanks, John.”

Molly was halfway across the pavement when Sherlock called after her. “I am not a child for John to deal with!”

“You could have fooled me,” she called back, then climbed into the car and quickly strapped Michael into the car seat as Walter shut the door behind them. “Your uncle is impossible,” she told Michael, who simply grinned at her and waved all four limbs. “Yes, well … you don’t know him yet.” Molly looked out the window as she settled against the seat, watching Sherlock stride down the pavement and John quickstep to catch up.

As Walter pulled into the traffic, Molly leaned her head against the back of the seat, recalling the scene in the nursery. Then the scene outside the nursery. After a few minutes, her smile turned into a huffing laugh, and then she was bent over, holding her stomach, while she guffawed. She finally got control of herself, but then she met Walter’s eyes in the rearview mirror and she was off again.

~~~~~

“I understand there was a bit of commotion at the nursery this evening,” Mycroft said absent-mindedly as he flipped through the mail on his desk. He glanced up when Molly didn’t reply.

“Just a bit,” she agreed, lowering her eyes to her hands and thus missing the twitch of Mycroft’s lips. “Nothing I can’t handle.” She quickly looked up when Mycroft snorted.

“It was more of an uproar than a bit of commotion, I think.” Mycroft rested his elbows on the desk and rubbed both temples before clasping his hands together and propping his chin on them. “What was Sherlock doing there?”

“If you know about the ‘uproar,’ then surely you know that.” He just raised his brows. _“I_ made him go. He caught me when I was leaving the hospital and wanted me to go back to the lab. Instead I had him and John come with me to the nursery.” She shrugged. “In case we ever need him to pick up Michael.”

“I think that option’s off the table. He’d probably be thrown out.” He unclasped his hands, then straightened his fingers in the familiar steeple position and pressed their tips against his chin. “Just tell me one thing: Did the woman quit?”

“No … she threatened to sue Sherlock for defamation of character.”

“Ah,” he said thoughtfully, then leaned back in his chair. “Don’t worry, my dear. It’s already been smoothed over.”

“Then why did you ask me about it?”

“For the sheer pleasure of having you tell me. Based on the CCTV footage, I’m just surprised the three of you didn’t come to blows,” he said, then threw his head back and laughed. “Another sex worker,” he finally said, still chuckling. “At least this one wasn’t a _fugitive_ sex worker. Or a threat to national security.”

Molly glared at him. “You _git_ – you had me worried for a moment.”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he said, leaning forward to offer his hand, palm up. “I simply couldn’t resist.”

Molly glared at him a few moments longer, then her expression lightened. “You’re forgiven,” she said, placing her palm over his, then smiled when he threaded their fingers together. “After all, I did have quite a laugh in the car on the way home.”

~~~~~

_And Then It Was December …_

As the weeks passed, Molly was thrilled to witness Michael’s continuing development, both mentally and physically; however, she wouldn’t be sorry if he lost interest soon in throwing and dropping things for her to retrieve. She understood he was exploring what he could do and that it must be exciting to be able to pick up something and then let it go – whether passively with the loosening of his fingers or more actively with a quick toss – but, frankly, she was getting tired of stooping over. _Middle-age creep,_ she thought, and at not quite thirty-seven.

Michael was gradually eating more solid food, and his progress was mostly determined by him. Molly placed fist-sized bites on his highchair tray, then sat beside him while he chose what he wanted. She’d slip in a spoonful of fortified cereal or a pureed vegetable or fruit from time to time, but only if he showed interest. Michael was still nursing four or five times a day and, according to his pediatrician, was getting everything he needed through her milk and vitamin supplements.

Their morning and afternoon playtimes on Molly’s days off were becoming more active as well. The next big milestone was crawling and Michael was already showing signs of that day being close. He’d started shuffling on his bottom when he wanted something he couldn’t reach and, during tummy time, he was now able to push himself up onto all fours and rock backwards and forwards. He hadn’t gone so far as to lift either hand off the floor while doing so, but Molly figured it was only a matter of days.

One of his favorite toys was an old-fashioned jack-in-the-box and, like most babies, he’d jump and laugh every time the clown popped out. After ten minutes of it, Molly would be thoroughly sick and tired of turning the crank, so she’d quickly learned to distract Michael and hide the jack-in-the-box when she’d had enough. Pat-a-cake and peek-a-boo were usually acceptable substitutes, but even ten minutes of happy clapping was tiring. She wondered if other parents her age worried about whether they’d be able to keep up with a seven-month-old. So when Michael went down for his afternoon nap, Molly would spend time in the gym.

~~~~~

_Second Saturday of December …_

Molly supported Michael under his armpits as he bounced more enthusiastically where he was standing on her thigh. Walter had positioned the car so that their window was facing the place where the private jet had just come to a stop. “Your daddy’s home,” Molly repeated in an excited tone and jiggled him on her knee. “He’ll be coming out of the plane any minute,” she added, pointing at its door. She knew the baby didn’t understand what she was saying, except possibly “daddy,” which was enough to make him quite excited.

A few minutes later, the plane’s door slowly opened and the airstairs were lowered to the ground. Andrew came out first, then a group of four men – Mycroft and three others milling around him – debarked. Mycroft was wearing his most impassive expression and one of his dark suits covered by a dark overcoat and carrying his umbrella and briefcase. She could see that he was talking as the group stepped onto the tarmac and stood in a small circle. One of the men said something to Mycroft, who answered briefly before glancing toward Walter where he was leaning against the front passenger door. Mycroft looked back at the other men and gestured toward their cars, then inclined his chin in a quick nod and turned to start walking to the car.

Molly didn’t think Mycroft would want the others to see Michael so she waited until he was only a couple of metres away before pushing the door open, then quickly shifted toward the center of the seat, holding a still-bouncing Michael on her thigh. Mycroft bent his head to look in the car, then smiled with eyes only before dropping lightly onto the seat beside them and placing his umbrella and briefcase on the floor by his feet. Michael made a noise that sounded like a grunting squeal and lurched toward his father, and Molly let him go when Mycroft caught him around the waist.

Molly felt giddy with excitement and anticipation and … _relief,_ and leaned her head against the back of the seat as she watched the two of them. Mycroft kissed Michael’s cheek and settled the baby against his chest, gave a tug to his trousers before crossing his legs, and finally met her eyes. “So,” he said, arching a brow, “did you miss me?”

“Hardly knew you were gone,” she coolly replied with a lift of a brow, then glanced out the window as Walter passed by carrying Mycroft’s bags. “I’ve been way too busy these past seven days, four hours, and …,” she paused to check her phone just as the boot slammed shut behind them, “thirty-two minutes.” After several moments passed in silence, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced down in time to see Mycroft place his free hand, palm up, on the seat between them. She laid her hand atop his much larger one, and he threaded their fingers together.

“How did Michael do this week?”

“Fine,” Molly said with a smile. “Dr. Miller’s daughter is still hovering around Michael and now she’s bringing him toys. She even took some things away from the other babies to give to him, which of course made them cry, but Ruth is working with her to stop that.”

“And what did _you_ do while I was away? Besides working and taking care of Michael.”

_Tried to hide my pining for you,_ Molly thought, holding Mycroft’s gaze for several seconds, then tilted her head and smiled. “I kept busy … you might think _too_ busy when you see the house.” When he looked at her questioningly, she continued, “Mrs. C and I spent some time decorating for Christmas.”

“I’m sure whatever you’ve done is fine, but I’d assumed you wouldn’t bother too much with decorating since we’re spending Christmas at The Cottage and Michael’s too young to get excited by it,” he said.

“But only Christmas Eve and Day there,” she said. “Since you aren’t as put off by Christmas as you used to be,” she paused, raising her brows at him, “I wanted us to be able to enjoy some festive trappings at home. Michael may be too young to understand what’s going on, but he’s seemed excited by all of the lights and smells.”

“All of the – Molly, just how much _have_ you decorated?”

“Not that much … really,” she assured him, but surreptitiously crossed the fingers of her free hand. They were distracted at that point by Walter getting into the driver’s seat. Mycroft carefully maneuvered a still excited Michael into his car seat, and then Mycroft and Molly spent most of the relatively short journey home being entertained by and reacting to their son’s antics, including his recently acquired ability to clap his hands when he wanted to instead of making contact occasionally on a hit-and-miss basis. Michael seemed mesmerized by the sight of his hands coming together and was still startled by the resulting noise. He looked at Mycroft in delight when his father mimicked him and then turned toward Molly, gurgling with laughter, when she clapped her hands as well.

When Walter turned the car through the front gate, Molly stared ahead of them until she could clearly see the front door, then looked at Mycroft, waiting for his reaction to the large noble fir wreath. She’d thought the pine cones, berries, cinnamon sticks, and single golden bow decorating the fresh greenery were elegant enough and that the wreath smelled divine, but he might consider the few small jingling bells too much.

Mycroft saw the wreath as soon as they started down the drive and automatically suppressed a grimace to avoid hurting Molly’s feelings, but then a strange thing happened as the car came to a stop. Mycroft took a few moments to study the effect of the greenery against the solid solemnity of the glossy, black door and the crisp white woodwork that surrounded it – and rapidly recalled the inroads Molly had made over the past two Christmases on his usual negativity toward the occasion. He abruptly realized his reaction had been more instinctive than a true reflection of his feelings. _Never say Mycroft Holmes can’t learn from experience,_ he thought fleetingly before meeting Molly’s anxious eyes. “I can’t think why I haven’t had a wreath before,” he said dryly, then slowly smiled at her obvious relief.

Walter opened the car door and Molly shifted along the seat, leaving Mycroft to unbuckle Michael’s car seat. He bent to retrieve his umbrella and briefcase and passed them to Molly before backing out of the car on the other side. He straightened and looked over the roof of the car when the front door opened with a cheery jingling of bells. Molly’s head turned quickly toward him, a hint of anxiety returning to her expression, and he gave her another brief smile. The sound of the bells had momentarily tested his newly achieved equanimity, but it was enough for him that they made Molly happy. He did, however, brace himself for what else might await his reaction beyond the front door.

Mycroft greeted Mrs. Collingwood as he followed Molly into the warmth of the front hall, then lowered the car seat to the floor. He crouched down to unstrap Michael, then rose to his feet. From his position near the door, Mycroft could see the end of the fir garland wound round the bottom newel post of the staircase. And the house simply _smelled_ like Christmas – the natural woodsy aromas from the fir wreath, staircase garlands, and most assuredly a tree, though he’d yet to see it; the spicy hint of cinnamon that lingered from the wreath even with the door now shut; the mouth-watering scents of mince pies and gingerbread. He tilted his head as he considered the smell of firewood coming from the sitting room and, he thought, his study as well. His brows flicked upwards when he detected the scent of cherry wood, rather than the ash logs they commonly used.

Molly removed her coat and scarf, then reached for Michael so Mycroft could remove his. She kissed the crown of the baby’s head while carefully eyeing her husband’s expression, wondering what he was thinking about the changes since he was last home.

Mycroft hung his coat on its hook, then put his hand on Molly’s back as they walked down the hall. She slowed at the second open door and he glanced at her before turning them into the sitting room and crossing to the large fir. The tip of it almost touched the high ceiling and he wondered who’d been responsible for decorating those uppermost branches. He turned in a circle, taking in the fairy lights and greenery on the mantel and the centerpiece on the coffee table with more fir boughs, pine cones, berries, shiny baubles and candles. What then caught his attention was the hopeful look in Molly’s eyes and Michael’s wide-eyed interest as he stared fixedly at the tree.

Mycroft stepped closer to Molly and slid his arm around her back as they both looked around the room. “It’s lovely, my dear,” he said, then turned to meet her eyes. “And Michael certainly seems to be delighted with the changes.”

“He loves the twinkling lights,” she said, then kissed the baby’s cheek. “I know he doesn’t understand any of it, but he seems enthralled by all the colors and textures of the decorations – but mostly the lights.”

“How about some tea, then you can show me the rest of it,” he said, turning her with him toward the door.

“About that …,” she said hesitantly. “You might not –”

“It’ll all be fine,” he said, glancing down at her with a smile, “unless you’ve put a tree in my study.”

_Oh god,_ she thought, letting him usher her to the kitchen.

_~~~~~_

“I obviously lost my mind temporarily,” Molly said, finally breaking the silence since Mycroft seemed too dumbstruck to speak. “We can move it.”

He walked further into his study and Molly slowly followed, biting her lip as she looked past him at the Christmas tree on the corner of his desk. The Christmas tree on the corner of his desk in a bright red bucket. The Christmas tree on the corner of his desk in a bright red bucket and oh-so-cheerfully lit with twinkling strands of multi-colored lights.

She turned her head to the right and suppressed a groan at the fairy lights and fir boughs on the mantel. _Oh god, what was I thinking?_

Mycroft turned around and gave Molly a smile. “No, it’s fine.”

Molly set the baby monitor on a side table, then moved closer and slid her hands around his neck. “I’m sorry, Mycroft,” she said, “I got carried away …”

She muffled a moan when Mycroft cupped his left hand around her right hip to pull her lower half flush against him, then stifled a squeak when he dipped her upper half over his right forearm … and she watched, wide-eyed and flushed, as his face moved closer, his eyes slowly studying every millimetre of her face before they met hers and became all the world … and the moment stretched out and she waited, breath held, for the touch of his lips … until finally he arched a brow and again asked, his low, husky rumble causing the fine hairs on her body to stand to attention … “So, did you miss me?”

_“Oh my god yes –”_

~~~~~

_The following Saturday …_

Molly hurried downstairs after putting Michael to bed for his afternoon nap and almost ran into Richie Collingwood at the bottom of the stairs. Their back-and-forth, side-to-side steps to avoid a collision left them laughing as they clutched each other’s arms to keep from falling.

“What’s so funny?”

Richie released Molly and slung an arm around his husband’s shoulders. “Just exhibiting my usual grace of movement and lightness of foot.”

“Which one,” Sam asked, “your left foot or your left foot?”

“Yeah, all right,” Richie said, dropping his arm. “At least I avoided trampling Molly under one or both of my two left feet.”

Molly laughed at Sam’s eye roll. “Is your mum in the kitchen?”

“I think she’s still packing,” Richie said, “or re-packing. She keeps changing her mind about what clothes to take.”

“Should I offer to help or –”

“I’d leave her,” Sam said. “I just came from the flat and she needs some quiet time to make her choices. At least that’s what she said when I offered to help.”

“I was on my way to make some tea,” Molly said. “Would you like to join me?” She led the way to the kitchen and set the baby monitor on the worktop before putting the kettle on. The three of them sat on stools at the island and Molly looked from Sam to Richie. “Are you both ready to leave?” Their flight was scheduled to depart just after seven that evening and, after a stop in Singapore, would arrive in Sydney early Monday morning.

“Other than tossing our toothbrushes in my carry-on,” Sam said. He waved Molly back to her stool when she started to get up to prepare the tea.

Molly watched Sam cross the kitchen, then turned back to Richie. “Do you have any special plans other than to spend time with your brother’s family?”

The three of them lingered over tea while talking about several side trips his brother, David, had arranged for the visitors, most of which involved Australia’s exotic wildlife and/or exotic scenery. Mrs. Collingwood, Richie and Sam would be Down Under for just over two weeks, and to describe the housekeeper as excited was quite an understatement. She’d been very grateful but composed when Mycroft and Molly told her about the Christmas gift in July and had stayed relatively composed for the next four months. Although Richie and Sam only lived about five miles away, in Islington, they’d spent the previous night at the Holmes home to ensure an easy departure for the airport and to help keep Mrs. Collingwood calm.

Three hours later, Mycroft and Molly stood on the front steps watching as Walter pulled away and started down the drive. Once the car went through the gate, they walked back into the house, shut the front door, and turned to look at each other as the silence settled around them. When Michael cooed, Molly huffed a laugh and reached to take him from Mycroft. “Is it too quiet for you, sweetie?”

Mycroft slid an arm around Molly’s waist as they walked down the hall and turned toward the kitchen. “I suppose this is my domain for the next two weeks,” she said, looking around as she jiggled Michael from side to side.

“Ours,” Mycroft corrected, then looked down at her. “We can still get a temporary housekeeper to come in. Anthea has a list of several people who’ve been properly vetted.”

“Two adults should be able to fend for themselves for two weeks, especially since the cleaning service takes care of the big stuff,” Molly said. “I’m actually looking forward to doing a bit of cooking and housekeeping.”

“And taking care of Michael and working at Barts?”

“And worshipping your body with mine on a regular basis, yes,” she added, with a slow smile. “Other people can handle it, and so can I.”

“I’ll help,” he said.

“Be sure to tell the Home Secretary it’s your turn to hoover if he calls,” she said drily.

“I’m pretty sure hoovering falls within the duties of the cleaning service,” he said, “but I can prepare breakfast.”

“And I’ll be happy to eat it whenever your schedule permits,” she said.

~~~~~

_Sunday morning …_

“Mycroft …”

“Yes …”

Molly swallowed thickly, then pressed her lips together and took a shuddery breath through her nose. Mycroft shifted his weight enough to allow more air to flow between them. “Thanks,” she muttered, then took a gulping breath. “Can you feel your feet?”

“Thankfully yes,” he said, drawing another deep breath through his nose. “Otherwise we’d be on the floor.”

“Well, mine are numb.”

Mycroft huffed a rather breathless laugh and lifted a palm off the wall to reach behind him and rub her foot. “Can you feel that?”

_“Mmm.”_

“Hold on,” he said as he slid his hand from Molly’s foot to her bottom and pushed away from the wall one-handed. He straightened, then cupped a second hand under her bottom and hitched her higher against him as he turned around to lean against the wall.

“I feel supremely decadent,” Molly said as she set her chin on Mycroft’s bare shoulder and stared at the rich wood paneling. She tentatively flexed her feet against the wall and then lifted her head to look at him. “This was not the workout I intended.”

“Nor I, but I imagine it’s been as effective as a half hour on the treadmill,” he said wryly.

Molly dropped her chin back on his shoulder. “At least that.”

They stayed pressed together for a while longer, then Mycroft turned his head to nudge Molly’s cheek. “Are you ready to get down?”

“Must I?”

“Our son is likely to wake up soon, and we desperately need a shower,” he said.

The mention of Michael was all it took for Molly to lift her head. Mycroft slid his hands from her bottom to her waist and supported her weight as she unhooked her ankles and then slowly lowered her legs. When they were fully straightened, she looked at Mycroft and snorted. “I still can’t touch the floor.”

“Sorry,” he said, loosening his hands so she could slide the rest of the way down his body. He kept hold of her until she had her balance, then dropped his hands.      

Molly stooped to pick up her knickers and glanced around the gym. The rest of her clothes were in a pile on the floor by the stair stepper. Mycroft’s were in a trail from the treadmill to where he still stood leaning against the wall. She stepped into the scrap of silk and lace, then ran her eyes over Mycroft, from his feet to the top of his head. “The evidence of what happened here is quite obvious.”

“We had sex,” he said, deadpan.

“Yes, thank you, Mycroft.” She turned to look at the exercise equipment. “No, my clothes came off first. Yours on the other hand,” she said as she turned back to him, “came off in stages. It’s clear who seduced whom.”

“There was never any question about that.”

“Right, I seduced you.”

“No, I overwhelmed you with my sex appeal. You simply can’t resist me in workout gear.”

Molly stared at him thoughtfully, then walked over to stand in front of him. She lifted her hand and cupped the side of his throat, then slowly slid her palm to the center of his chest where she paused for a moment before sliding it lower.

“Molly, it’s not possible –“

_“Hmm?”_ Her fingers rubbed a circle over his lower belly, then slid even lower. “Well, well … what do we have here.”

Mycroft straightened away from the wall, wrapped his hands around Molly’s upper arms, and tensed his muscles as he started to lift her … and then they both twisted to look at the baby monitor when Michael cooed and started babbling to himself.

Molly dropped her hand from Mycroft and quickly crossed the room to pull on her jumper and sweatpants. She stooped to pick up her shoes and socks, grabbed the monitor and hurried to the door, where she stopped and turned back. Mycroft had already put his sweatpants on and was turning the matching top right side out. “To be continued later?”

He looked up and met her eyes. “It’s a date.”

Molly turned away and ran toward the front hall and then up the stairs. When she swung Michael’s bedroom door open, he was happily “talking” to himself as he crawled across the cot's mattress. _Crawled,_ she thought. _"MYCROFT...,"_ she yelled, startling Michael and causing him to flop on his bottom and stare at her. "Michael's _crawling!"_

_~~~~~_

_Twenty-Third of December …_

Molly waited for Michael to swallow the spoonful of pureed carrot, then looked at Mycroft, who’d arrived home much earlier than she expected and was now leaning against the kitchen island watching them. “I haven’t started cooking,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you until half past seven at the earliest.”

Mycroft shifted his position and crossed his ankles. “That’s good since I’ve made dinner plans for us.”

“Dinner?” Molly’s gaze switched between him and Michael.

“Sherlock’s agreed to look after Michael for a few hours,” Mycroft said.

_“Sherlock?”_

“Needs must,” he said drily, then continued more seriously. “When Michael’s finished nursing, I’ll put him to bed. You’ll need to wear clothes that will be warm enough in the night air.”

“Why?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said.

“But where are we going?”

Mycroft huffed in exasperation. “Did you miss the part where I said it’s a surprise?”

“I suppose it’ll be all right,” she said slowly, then smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry - I don’t mean to sound unenthusiastic about whatever you have planned.”

“If Michael wakes up before we’re back, it won’t be because he’s hungry,” he said. “We should be gone less than two hours.” He straightened when Molly started to get up. “What do you need?”

“A warm, wet cloth to clean his face and hands,” she said, then pointed. “I put some flannels in that drawer by the sink today.”

Once he’d brought the cloth to her, Mycroft went to his study to finish some work. He replied to several emails, forwarded others with follow-up instructions, and returned a call from the PM, who’d needed to be assured, yet again, that the recent trip to Croatia had been a success - relatively speaking. Some situations were incapable of being resolved to their total satisfaction. He gave in to the urge to roll his eyes and sighed loudly, then powered off his laptop and went to see what Molly and Michael were doing.

Michael was playing with some toys on the tray of his highchair, and Molly was sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, drinking a glass of orange juice, when Mycroft walked in. “Would you like some juice? Or a cup of tea?”

“Tea, but I’ll make it,” Mycroft said, then rested his hands on Molly’s shoulders as he brushed his lips over the top of her head. Just that easily, he could create such a sense of intimacy and tenderness between them, and Molly didn’t know if he was even aware of the full effect of his simple gesture.

Molly had just finished nursing Michael when Sherlock arrived, so she quickly adjusted her clothing and lifted Michael to her shoulder. Mycroft strode into the kitchen ahead of his brother, and Molly had to cough to cover her amusement at their expressions. She thought they might be going for “expressionless,” but to her they both looked uncomfortable. Both of them must have suddenly realized they were in an unprecedented situation -- Sherlock doing them an entirely personal favor; Mycroft entrusting Sherlock with his son’s well-being. Even if Sherlock hadn’t said so out loud, he loved his nephew so could hardly behave as if he resented being asked to babysit him. Mycroft loved his son so could hardly ask Sherlock to babysit and then act as if his brother was incapable of behaving responsibly.

Sherlock came to a stop beside Molly’s stool and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Good evening, Molly.”

Molly bit her lip at his unusually sober tone. “Good evening, Sherlock,” she said lightly, then rose to her feet. She waited until Sherlock looked at her, then grasped his lapel and gave it a quick tug. He sighed dramatically, but bent to offer her his cheek. “Thank you, Sherlock. It’s kind of you to help us out.”

He bristled a bit at that and scowled at Mycroft before turning back to Molly. “I’m only doing it because of the leg you got me last week.”

“I understand,” she said, then patted his arm and looked at her husband, “but we still appreciate it … don’t we, Mycroft.”

 

Mycroft stared at Molly impassively for a few moments, then glanced at Sherlock. “Yes, of course.” He ignored his brother’s smirk and moved closer to reach for the baby. “You need to get ready to leave, Molly.”

“All right,” she said as she rose to her feet. She looked at Sherlock for a few moments, then turned to Mycroft. “You should take Sherlock with you and let him help put Michael to bed.” She had to bite the inside of both cheeks when Mycroft’s jaw briefly dropped before he pressed his lips together in a thin line. She then turned to Sherlock with a cheery smile. “You can take turns acting out his bedtime story.”

Sherlock’s jaw dropped open in astonishment. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

_“Gotcha,”_ she said, grinning at both of them. “You two work it out, but no fighting in front of Michael … or, if you must, at least argue in sweet tones.”

“Molly?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Shut up.”

~~~~~

Molly wasn’t sure where they were going, but recognized the area as they crossed over Battersea Bridge and then turned onto Battersea Church Road. The farther Andrew drove, the more confused she got. He slowed and signaled a turn at Bridges Court and Molly looked over other rooftops at the lights of the Crowne Plaza that shone so brightly against the dark sky. _Surely it wasn’t the hotel,_ she thought. _They could have just stayed home._

Mycroft glanced at Molly out of the corner of his eye when they finally came to a stop, then raised his brows when she turned toward him. “Why are we here, Mycroft?”

“Merry Christmas, my dear.” Mycroft smiled as Andrew opened the door beside her. Molly slid across the seat and got out of the car, then peered all around them, still not understanding what they were doing there. When Mycroft lifted an arm and pointed, she looked where he indicated and stared across the helipad at the black, twin-engine helicopter and the river so close beyond it. The rotor blades began to revolve very slowly, and Mycroft urged Molly forward with a hand against her back.

Molly didn’t fully come out of her daze until she was settled on the backseat and Mycroft dropped into place beside her. The sides of the helicopter cabin were mostly glass so there was enough illumination from the lights outside for them to see each other. Molly noticed a couple of switches on the wall near her and on the back of the pilot’s seat that apparently operated small pin lights, but she liked the intimacy of the shadows. She couldn’t see the pilot at the controls or Andrew beside him because of the high backs of their seats, and the “aisle” to get from front to back was at the side of the cabin, so Mycroft and Molly were sitting in relative privacy. “I can’t believe this, Mycroft,” she said hoarsely, then stopped to clear her throat. “Where are we going?”

“On an adventure,” he said, taking her hand. “Isn’t that what you wanted for Christmas?”

Molly held her breath as the noise of the engines and vibration and whine from the rotors increased considerably. Her mouth fell open when the helicopter slowly lifted off the pad, hovered above the dark depths of The Thames, then dipped as it turned to follow the river eastward. Molly could do nothing but stare at the overwhelming beauty of London at night – not just the landmarks she recognized, both historical and new, but all the miscellaneous thousands of houses and blocks of flats and schools and businesses and streets that made up the whole, and the lights … so many lights – blue, purple, green, yellow, stark white – outlining the bridges and glowing from windows and dotting the streets … and the floodlights illuminating so many structures that she normally saw only by daylight. She found it difficult to process the images into thoughts with any clarity and certainly would never be able to do them justice with words. There was Battersea and the Cricket Ground and all of Westminster …

Molly didn’t see the transfer of a long, tissue-wrapped tube between Andrew and Mycroft so was surprised when the long-stemmed white rose, tied with a ribbon of white lace, appeared before her eyes. “I didn’t follow your instructions to the letter, my dear,” Mycroft said. “I did get you this.”

She stared at the rose wide-eyed, mouth forming an O, recalling the twin of it that Mycroft had left for her on the car seat the day before their wedding, which had also been the first anniversary of their first night together. She took the stem, then turned to smile at him, delighted at the repeat of such a romantic gesture. While still holding his gaze, she unbuckled her belt and slid along the empty seats until she could lean forward into the space beside Andrew’s seat. “Eyes front, gentlemen for the next five minutes,” she said loudly enough to be heard over the engines, ignoring both the appalled noise Mycroft made and the hand he put on her arm to pull her back. “No peeking, Andrew, or Mycroft may have to kill you.”

“Mrs. Holmes, we don’t allow any inappropriate behavior in flight –”

Molly laughed merrily when Mycroft groaned at the pilot's warning. “Don’t concern yourself, Bob. My husband thinks holding hands in public is vulgar.” Molly stood just enough to sidle past Mycroft, then dropped onto the seat directly behind Bob and buckled the belt. She looked at Mycroft and pointed at the seat beside her, then suppressed a laugh at the long-suffering look he gave her. If they’d been on the ground, he’d probably have left the room, but he was stuck. She pointed at the seat again, and he narrowed his eyes at her and chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, before unbuckling his belt and shifting over. “Thank you,” she whispered, “now you can kiss me without them seeing.”

Mycroft scowled most impressively, then whispered back. “I am _not_ kissing you here.”

“No one will see,” Molly whispered in a wheedling tone. When he continued to glare at her, she finally turned away and looked out the window. “Okay, fine.” She caught her breath and leaned closer to the glass as they flew over St. Paul’s and The Tower, the Gherkin and The Shard.

Mycroft, for his part, was focused on the back of Molly’s head, briefly considering whether the trip had been a mistake, when Molly gave him a quick glance over her shoulder before looking out the window again. “I know I can be a nuisance.”

“You can,” he quietly agreed, lips twitching as that momentary twinge of regret vanished. He should have learned by then that his wife’s mischievous streak was likely to break free inappropriately – or what _he_ thought inappropriate – when she was confronted with situations that made her nervous or excited. Springing such a surprise on her had probably been guaranteed to cause both.

Molly hunched a shoulder, then added, “You’d like to ring my neck sometimes.”

“I would,” he solemnly acknowledged, “although much less often than Sherlock’s.”

“But you love me anyway.”

“I do,” he confirmed matter-of-factly.

Molly turned fully toward Mycroft, then lowered her eyes to her hands. “I’m sorry for teasing you and making you uncomfortable in public,” she said, meeting his eyes briefly before dropping her head toward her chest. “Truly.”

Mycroft silently studied the crown of her head, then turned his head to look at the high backs of the front seats and listened to the noise of the engines and rotors and – _“Oh, bugger,”_ he muttered crossly, then reached for Molly. “Come here.”

And then Mycroft Holmes, The Ice Man extraordinaire, was passionately kissing Molly Hooper Holmes, a (formerly mousy) pathologist, as they flew through the dark starry night, with the lights of London and all its majestic splendor spread out below them … while his maddening, but beloved brother watched over their son.

_Life,_ she thought, _surely couldn’t get any better than this._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking a break from writing, but may return with more installments at some point. I don't know if there's much reader interest in my continuing, and I really hate the thought that (i) this series has become tedious, but (ii) some readers keep reading it simply because there are so few Mollcroft stories for us, relatively speaking.
> 
> I appreciate everyone who's read my version of Mycroft and Molly, or any part of it, and have loved to read your comments. Those of you who've left comments have always been exceedingly generous. I'm grateful, too, to all of you who've left kudos. Every time I've received an email about kudos or comments, it has made me smile. Every single time.
> 
> Thank you all so much.


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